The dreaded man flu
by Pinkjimmychoos
Summary: Bill Buchanan can be a real baby when he’s sick- told from Karen’s POV. Set in the same universe as my other one shots. B/K Fluff and humour. Oh, and the cat’s back... and the dog.


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********The dreaded 'man flu'**

**Summary:** Bill Buchanan can be a real baby when he's sick- told from Karen's POV. Set in the same universe as my other one shots. B/K Fluff and humour. Oh, and the cat's back (and the dog)…

**Rating:** K+

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; they belong to FOX and the creators of 24.

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Honestly, why is it that whenever a man is sick, they act like they're dying? Take my husband as the prime example: he has a _cold_, a mere case of the _sniffles_, as demonstrated by his runny nose and albeit slightly watery eyes, but from the way he's acting, you'd think he'd been diagnosed as having a life-threatening illness, and of course _forget_ taking a Tylenol or aspirin, nay- he's determined to suffer it out to the very end.

Karen Hayes' expert diagnosis: _man flu. _

That dreaded godfather of all ailments, which takes over the male species at any given time, resulting in grumpiness, moodiness and general feelings of feebleness and pathetic whimpering.

My husband came down with it this morning and has spent much of the day curled up in bed like some kind of overly-large foetus (with the door firmly shut so the cat can't get into the bedroom), watching crappy talk shows and requesting honey and lemon drinks in a whiny voice whenever I get anywhere near the vicinity of the landing. I honestly think he's on the verge of requesting some kind of bell that he can ring whenever he hears me go by- a real attention grabber.

What am I, his nurse?

Hmm, _interesting_. No Karen, don't even go there. It's kind of icky when he's all sniffly like that.

He has company though: our miniature French poodle, Jet, and the damn animal won't leave him alone for two minutes, climbing all over my new goose feather quilt and leaving teeny paw prints everywhere. Sorry, did I say 'damn animal?' _I really _meant: "adorable bundle of woolly fluff that happens to like Bill better than he does me."

Not that I mind or anything. Honestly I don't. After all, I have Pepper. My loveable cat who is rather on edge these days since the new addition to the household arrived. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was having some kind of kitty nervous breakdown: he's on edge constantly, he's off his food and whenever Jet gets within fifty feet of him, he tics. He's looking so skinny lately that I'd swear he's undertaken some kind of Jenny Craig diet for cats.

I'm not one to talk about irony too much, or even karma, but sometimes I think that Bill might have got the dog _on purpose_, just to give himself a break from Pepper. Oh sure, it's only a suspicion, but not an unfounded one- there's grounding in my reasoning and I do have women's logic after all. Since Jet came to live with us, Bill has his favourite chair back, his newspaper fully intact (sports section included) and there's no danger whatsoever of Pepper creeping upstairs to join us in bed in the middle of the night, with Jet curled up right outside our bedroom door.

I'm making it sound like I'm jealous- of a dog! I'm not, honestly. I just… well, I have to admit, I'm starting to understand how left-out Bill might have felt with _me_ giving Pepper so much attention in the past.

Silly, right?

I mean, it's not as if Jet's horrible to me or anything. She doesn't growl at me, try to steal my chair or deride me in any way. She just… well, this _will _sound kind of silly actually, even as I'm saying it in my head: she gives me a smug look whenever she jumps into Bill's lap (he lets her on the furniture even though he kicks Pepper off) and I'd _swear_ that whenever he takes her out for a walk, she gives me some kind of knowing doggy grin over her furry shoulder. I know, I know… the "other woman" is actually a poodle, but still…

Alright, alright- I admit it: I, Karen Hayes, am jealous of a miniature French poodle.

Happy now?

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"Karen..?" Bill cough's feebly as I bypass the bedroom on the way to the linen cupboard a little later; "Karen, is that you?"

Oh for heaven's sake.

"Yes Bill, it's me," I say impatiently, pushing the door open. He's lying on the bed, propped up by numerous fluffy pillows and watching Judge Judy with a rather vested interest. Jet of course, is curled up right beside him. I cast her a suspicious look as she bestows on me a little woof. It _sounds_ friendly but I get the impression it's all some kind of ploy to make Bill think how adorable she is. Sure enough, Bill looks raptured.

"Aw, Karen, did you hear that? She said hello…" he tickles Jet behind the ears and I grit my teeth.

"What do you want, Bill?" I ask him with a sigh.

He looks up at me piteously, "I'd think that in my vulnerable state, you'd speak to me a tad more nicely, Karen."

"You have a cold."

"I have the flu," he replies, looking wounded.

"Man flu," I counter.

He looks grumpy; "whatever."

"Seriously Bill," I make my voice sound a little kinder; "what can I get you? Lemon syrup? Cough drops? Cupcakes?"

He brightens and then regards the animal once more; "actually, you could take Jet for a walk for me if you wouldn't mind."

My smile fades; "what, by myself?"

You see, even though Jet was supposed to be a 'gift to the household' the only person she's seemingly taken a shine to is my husband. What if I take her for a walk and she runs away, only to get hit by a car and Bill blames me forever? I wouldn't put it past her just to make a point. I wince. He sees my expression; "honey, Jet loves you," he protests, "you'll be fine."

"Alright," I mumble, feeling myself weakening as Jet peers up at me with melting chocolate brown eyes. "Come on, you damn dog."

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To my surprise, the walk around the block is going well. Jet trots obediently beside me and I feel myself wavering in my suspicions towards her. When I let her off the lead and call her, she comes right back to me and settles patiently at my feet. _Pepper_ certainly never pays this much attention to me, that's for sure. She grins up at me with that doggy smile and... darn it. She really _is_ kind of cute, isn't she?

We walk back to the house where I find Bill curled up in bed watching America's Top Model. He's looking a lot more bright-eyed and bushy tailed than he was this morning that's for sure, and he's even whistling the theme tune merrily. Somehow I don't think it's _all _to do with the show.

"Bill," I put my hands on my hips and regard him with the uttermost suspicion, arching my brow; "were you…faking being ill?"

I'm rewarded with an innocent smile as Jet jumps on the bed. "Maybe faking the _extent_ of my illness," my husband counteracts mildly as he flicks off the TV, "but it worked."

"What 'worked?'" I ask, baffled.

"You and Jet," he says happily, "you're friends!"

I roll my eyes; "we are not 'friends,'" I say levelly, "we're… better acquainted admittedly, but that's all. And I still don't want her on the bed!"

Even as I chastise the dog, almost by my own volition I feel my hands scratching behind her ears as she rolls over, curling in the quilt. With a sigh, I tickle her tummy as she licks my fingers: darn it! She's so adorable I just can't help myself! Bill is watching us triumphantly; "alright," I concede with a frown, "we're _friends_. Your little ploy worked."

Bill smiles smugly and I just can't help myself; "I think we need to work on you and Pepper next."

At the look of horror that spreads across his face I add slyly; "I feel a cold of my own, coming on."

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**A/N: **I've been on a real writing kick lately though most of it seems to have been Harry Potter stories, but I really wanted to get this one posted because it's been sitting on my computer unfinished for ages! I hope you liked it.


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